She Was Dead
by Cerulean-Splashed-Sky
Summary: A short story about a girl who had her heart slashed open and ripped to shreds...


_She was dead. _

Her porcelain skinned arms hung limply at her sides, dangling like cracked and dead branches in the bitter autumn wind. Brutal lines of pink raked her skin as the cold and salt scratched and clawed at those oh-so-perfect cheeks. Her lip was caked with blood and her cheeks, those rose coloured, perfectly blushed cheeks, were streaked with salt water and perfect crimson blood, running like a rapid stream down her perfect face. There was nothing left. She was gone. Everything was gone. There was nothing left. Just nothing. Nothing at all._She_ was gone.

The wind bit and snapped, limbs of dead and broken trees shaking violently with every blow. The scent of dead leaves and dew filled the air with the harsh breeze. The sun slowly set into a bleeding sky. Wisps of orphaned clouds rising and snatching, gripping and grasping at the dark bliss of nothing, scraping blood onto its face, purpling and leaving bruises in its wake. It was like her. The bruises of last night. Visibly screaming at the world from her arms and neck. Deep purple and black contrasting with the milky white marble of her skin. She didn't care though.

_She was dead._.

The cold was seeping in. She couldn't feel anything. Nothing. But numb. Her fingers ran numb shaking and trembling with the effort to move. The numb ran up through her arms and into her heart. It didn't matter though. She was _dead_. Her face stung where the salt broke into cuts, pushing and shoving like some haunted army breaking and shoving the blood out from the trenches of her skin. She didn't care though. Just a blank face. A facade now gone. Like a magic trick revealed. The pure excitement diminished into nothingness. Her face shows nothing. But inside. Inside you can see it. That sinking feeling of black reaching upwards. Catching and grabbing, clawing through your throat and down into the pits of your broken and dead heart. Wrapping around your rib cage breaking and cracking, snapping and crushing until your struggling for breath. Until it strangles you.

And now she's stopped breathing and the tears are coming. The pain is to much. Its strangling her and ripping at her and tearing her to shreds. Those blank, blank, _blank_ eyes staring into nothing as more tears gather and spill over the lips of those blank, blank eyes.

She decided the moment he broke her. Decided that she was nothing. Nothing left of him. Nothing left of her feelings. Nothing left of _her_. She was nothing. Just a walking corpse. She decided the moment he broke her heart and tore out her feelings. Spilling them out of her gaping hole and spewing on the sides of the empty and grimy street which he had dragged her to. And then he pushed her up against the wall. She screamed and gasped at what he had done. And then he covered her mouth. Then... Then she decided she was nothing. And then he had started taking off her clothes. And then...

_She was dead._

Deep, deep circles of crimson purple lie underneath those once-was sparkling ocean deep eyes. Red veins wrap themselves up on the blanket of those snow white eyes as she scowls. There's nothing left of her. Nothing at all. Just a blank look. She's there, but she's long gone. An apartment vacated decades ago. She's still alive but dead.

And this is what he's done to her. Left her to die. Left her to go on in life with nothing but a scowl and one wish. A wish that she _could_ die. He's turned her into some rotting corpse. Purple bruised eyes with unsteady hands and a blank stare into nothing. The bruises running up and down her arms make everything worse and people are wondering. Those around her neck hurt even more. And he's left her this. A beautiful painting of purple and black and crimson all swirling around, using her body as a canvas. He painted such a beautiful picture. He left it, as a present to her. A thank you card for the rental of her feelings.

And now she's sobbing, crying and gasping. Those crystal clear memories shattering and piercing her heart, making her scream out loud. She rips at her skin with her broken finger nails, adding to the canvas of purple and black and red. Her lips split wider and those beautiful salt tears streak and spatter across her face onto the autumn ground, as a leaf tosses gently by.

And now she's coming out of her day dream. Her lips tremble and her hair tosses in the wind, glittering brightly as the last light of the day shines through the darkness. She couldn't do that. She wanted to. But she can't. Her eyes are still blank. Arms still limp at her side as the cold creeps up her fingertips. She wish she could be human, wishes she could tell him what he had done to her. Wishes she could break and slash at his skin like he had to her. But she can't. All along her eyes stay blank and her face composed. She can't do anything...

_She was dead._


End file.
